Do you read? Did you used to read more?
If all the screens in your life stopped working after 8 p.m., how would you end your days instead?
One of the things that sets humans apart from other animals is our ability to communicate across distance and time. Books allow us to pass on ideas from one generation—or one century—to the next. Thoughts, wisdom, ideas… they are rarely “new” so much as they build on what came before. Isaac Newton famously said, “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” We take ideas from others, blend them with our own lives and experiences, and grow them.
This is how progress happens—in science, medicine, psychology, philosophy, and everywhere. Ideas spread, evolve, and transform. And for hundreds of years, books were the venue for this.
Nassim Nicholas Taleb, in his book Antifragile, explains that the longer non-perishable things—like books or technologies—have been around, the more likely they are to last. In other words, a book or idea that has survived for centuries is likely to keep its place because its endurance reflects both its resilience and continued relevance. Books, as a format, have lasted far longer than other media because they can capture complex ideas and remain meaningful across generations. They offer a space for deep thinking and personal reflection, which helps them stand the test of time. This is especially true of books that explore timeless topics, like philosophy, the meaning of life, and the human experience. Taleb argues that by reading works that have stood the test of time—such as those by Plato, Sun Tzu, Homer, Orwell, or Dostoevsky—we connect with a kind of cultural “natural selection.” These books give us access to insights and wisdom that go beyond the trends and distractions of the moment.
But when was the last time you picked up a book? When did reading—a practice that has shaped human civilization—become optional?
Today, patience is vanishing, replaced by quicker and more passive forms of entertainment. Around 89% of Americans watch TV daily, usually before bed, while only 8% read at night. I often hear, “I don’t have time to read,” or simply, “I don’t read.” All this from people who scroll social media, binge Netflix, or consume endless news cycles for hours.
What does this say about us—about who we are becoming as individuals and as a society?
I buy physical books. I like to joke with my husband that I carry my current reads around the house the way a child carries their favorite toys. To me, being able to actually smell and feel the pages is important. I like to earmark passages that I may, or may not, revisit later. I always have hopes of later loaning books to friends or family. I’ll even buy a copy in English and another in Spanish so that I have both on hand for loan, given that most of my family speaks only English and my friends prefer to read in Spanish. For me, books are more than a pastime; they are an invitation to introspection and conversation, a way to connect with the people I care about, my tribe.
And yet, I can’t help but feel increasingly out of sync with the world around me—disconnected from how we consume media today: passively, almost without thinking, as we slump on the sofa at the end of a long day. I’ve noticed this pattern in my own life, backed by real data from my Oura Ring, a device that tracks sleep habits. The ring records (among other things) how long it takes me to fall asleep each night. Most nights, I read before bed, and Oura logs this time as "latency"—a state where I’m awake but lying down. While we don’t own a TV, I do rent movies a few times a year and watch them on my laptop. In these cases, the device mistakenly thinks I’ve already “fallen asleep.” Watching a screen is so passive, it almost mimics unconsciousness! This likely happens because the body’s state during passive activities, like watching TV, resembles the early stages of sleep, with a slowed heart rate and reduced movement. On the other hand, reading requires more mental engagement and keeps me alert (literally for about 3 to 5 minutes until I fall asleep), so the sleep tracking doesn’t kick in until I’ve put down the book and drifted off.
Here are a few more statistics: On average, people worldwide spend about 2 hours and 20 minutes a day on social media (and the average is even higher in the U.S.). Gaming—including video games, mobile games, and word or puzzle games on phones and computers—is another major screen-time activity. Globally, people spend about 8.5 hours a week gaming, with the average in the U.S. once again being higher.
Blaise Pascal once said, “The sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he cannot stay quietly in his room.” This feels more relevant than ever, as many of us constantly seek entertainment or distractions to avoid moments of quiet reflection. Have we, as a society, grown addicted to stimulation? Do we flee from anything that requires sitting quietly or engaging on a deeper level?
Books don’t hand you easy answers, but they do make you think. They demand attention, patience, and curiosity. In contrast, screens lull us into shallow numbing distraction, or as Oura suggests, unconsciousness. When we trade books for screens, we’re not just giving up time with great ideas—we’re giving up the active, deliberate thought that makes us human.
But why does this matter? Isn’t it fine to relax at the end of a long day? Maybe. But what happens when a society forgets how to think deeply, question assumptions, or communicate complex ideas?
Books offer something screens can’t.
They allow us to slow down in a world addicted to speed and constant hits of dopamine. They create space for reflection, for wrestling with discomfort, for processing nuance. They help us see the world through someone else’s eyes and teach us to appreciate complexity in an era that prizes oversimplified answers.
But here’s the thing: I don’t think we can reclaim the habit of reading if a screen sits in the middle of the living room, waiting for you like a mouth-watering, all-you-can-eat buffet of distractions.
So, what’s the solution?
Get rid of the TV—or at least move it to the closet, the garage, the garden shed! Cancel the subscriptions (Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, all of it) and see what happens. Take the kids to the library. Fill your house with books.
And then, read. Dammit.
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